


Halfway to Paris

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:24:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4618392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over and they're heading home. Aramis doesn't ask the question, but Porthos answers it anyway. (Coda fic for 2x10 <strike>kind of</strike>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halfway to Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/post/127118315337/post-war-reunion-porthos-telling-aramis-about-his) on my tumblr, a drabble* for the prompt "post-war reunion Porthos telling Aramis about his son before they actually reach Paris again and he can see him for himself". 
> 
> (* not quite a drabble since it's longer than that, but it's not quite a fic, either. Ficlet?)

They’re halfway to Paris, Athos leading the front and d’Artagnan trotting not too far behind him – eager now that the war is officially over, eager to get back to Constance. They’ve been back and forth to Paris over the years, caught between the border and the garrison – but this will be the first time that Aramis has seen Paris since he left it so many years ago. There’s a lump in his throat, a short breath of expectation. But d’Artagnan moves as if he hasn’t been to Paris in a decade, in comparison. Perhaps that’s what it’s like to be married so young. Aramis smiles to himself at how familiar the image is, how even after the last few years, the image of d’Artagnan’s eagerness is still as familiar as if he’d seen it just yesterday. Porthos rides beside him, fitting there, as if he’s always belonged there (because he has always belonged there) – and there’s comfort in that, will always be comfort in that. 

They’re halfway to Paris and Porthos glances at him. Aramis tilts his head, smiles – reassuring, unsure of the particular reason for the look, only knows that he’s here, that he’s fine, that Porthos can know it and find reassurance in that, too. He’s here. He’s going home. If he can offer even the littlest bit of reassurance to Porthos, he will – he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure Porthos doesn’t have to worry, if he can. 

They’re halfway to Paris and Porthos says, abruptly, “He’s really blonde.” 

Aramis says nothing but he knows Porthos won’t miss the way he tilts his head down, the way his hands grip the reins to his horse, the way he turns, so, so slightly towards Porthos – looking at him. He doesn’t dare breathe. He doesn’t dare ask. 

Porthos meets his eyes and then looks ahead, the sun caught in his hair, his lips quirking into something of a smile – genuine, if a little melancholy. “He runs more than he walks.” 

Aramis breathes out, blinks once, and isn’t even paying attention to the road now. He looks at Porthos, who looks forward. Porthos is quiet, his jaw tightening once before the smile eases out, compassionate and longing. 

He says, “He has his father’s laugh.” 

Silence comes after that. Aramis breathes out, sharp and somehow strangely serene, touches at the spot on his chest where a rosary once sat and now sits, presumably, with the gift-giver instead, sure in her hands. He tries so hard not to think of her and yet his heart softens with that longing. And then he smiles over at Porthos – who is watching him now, quiet and uncertain. 

“And?” Aramis prompts, his voice a wisp of breath – looking at Porthos like salvation. 

Porthos breathes out, smiles – and then tells him more.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on my [tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/), as always.


End file.
